


Interrogation

by afterandalasia



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: disney_kink, Dark, Gen, Horror, Torture, magical torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jafar interrogates - and tortures - this 'Prince Ali' of whom he has heard so little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> From [the anon prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=121961#t121961) at Disney Kink.

"So... Prince Ali..."  
  
Jafar looked down at his captive, the handsome dark face now bruised around the eye and with blood on the lips. The boy was chained to the wall, but that did not stop him from struggling, wresting at the metal cuffs until they cut into his wrists and ankles, his bare chest gleaming with sweat and his arms streaked with rivulets of blood. A snarl came from behind the gag.  
  
"Now, now," Jafar purred, "that's hardly princely behaviour, is it?" He reached out to cup the boy's chin with one hand for a moment, looking at him thoughtfully, searching for any sign of recognition, then he drew back and slammed his staff into Ali's stomach, two handed. With a muffled groan, he doubled over, or at least tried to before he was restrained by the cuffs again.  
  
Jafar waited for the moment to pass, for the boy to straighten up. "Now," he continued more matter-of-factly, "if I remove your gag, will you give me a civil answer to my questions?" The boy just glared at him. "Well, let's give it a go..."  
  
He clicked his fingers and the gag disappeared in a wisp of smoke. 'Ali' drew in great gasping breaths; his nose, bruised and probably broken from the butt of the staff, was rimmed around with blood and Jafar had heard him struggling for breath before now.  
  
"Who are you, boy?"  
  
Dark eyes fixed on Jafar's, a faint fierce glow deep within them. "I am Prince Ali Ababwa, and I will have your _head_ for this insolence!"  
  
"Nice try," said Jafar, "but no soft-skinned Prince would bear this."  
  
He took a handful of the boy's hair, pushing his head back against the wall. The boy's hands balled into fists, his face twisted, and then he spat. Saliva spattered against his cheek and his lip curled into distaste before he reached up and wiped it away with the back of one hand.  
  
"And none would do that."  
  
Before there was time for a response, he bought the butt of the staff into the boy's left knee. There was a cracking sound, a crunching feeling, and the erupting cry of pain gave him a thrill of grim satisfaction as that leg buckled. The boy's face paled, his breathing becoming more pained. Jafar smirked.  
  
"The rough hands of a commoner, and marks upon your back from the lash. An adulterer, perhaps, or a petty thief? But certainly not some princeling with no need to break the law or the power to ignore it. So _who are you_?"  
  
"Someone..." the boy panted; "With more nerve... than you'll ever have."  
  
Eyes flashing with anger, Jafar slammed his staff against the boy's shattered knee again. Another shout of pain, this one choked off at the end, and bunching fists as Ali fought to keep his balance. Then he placed the head of it in the centre of Ali's chest, hard enough to blanch the skin beneath, and hissed: "Of all the pain you will suffer... this is but a taste."  
  
The boy probably didn't believe it. But then Jafar allowed his magic to flash down the staff and into the restrained, undefended body. Pain beyond screaming, the mouth open but with no sound; Jafar sneered a smile as he thought what it must be like. Like thorns in every inch of flesh, inside and out; like molten metal along the bones; like bursting blood vessels spewing poison through every ounce of flesh; like insufferable pressure and tearing apart in the same instant.  
  
It lasted less than a second. It would have felt much longer. When it was over, Ali slumped in his chains, a scorched raw mark in the centre of his chest, panting and choking back whimpers. Jafar put the head of the staff beneath the boy's chin, tilted his face upwards. Tears, sweat and blood mingled; blood running from the nose and from the corner of the eyes as well as thick on the lips.  
  
"A taste," he promised. "Street rat."  
  
There was no reply this time. He drew the staff away; Ali's head snapped downwards again, hanging limply.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
Silence. No defiance, no anger, but no reply. Not good enough. Jafar placed the head of the staff against bare skin again, lower this time, just above the boy's navel. A new piece of flesh to brand.  
  
"Tell me your name and you will be spared this burst."

" _Aladdin_."  
  
It was so quite it was barely audible. Jafar pressed harder with the staff, and the boy croaked out his repeat.  
  
"Aladdin!"  
  
"Very good," said Jafar smugly. He drew the staff away for a moment, then stabbed it hard against the boy's neck. "We're starting to get somewhere."


End file.
